


Naughty Or Nice

by coveredbyroses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Breathplay, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, F/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 01:44:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17194151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: Dean shows up unannounced just in time for the holidays three years after a messy break-up. You can’t shake the feeling that there’s something very…off about him.





	Naughty Or Nice

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @kittenofdoomage for her Canon Christmas Challenge. My prompt was Naughty or Nice.

You’ve just hung the last ornament on your tree when there’s a sound just outside your door.

Just the wind, right? Yep. Let’s go with that.

You collect the flimsy cardboard boxes labeled “X-Mas” in bold, black permanent marker and head toward the garage.

There’s another sound, a rasp against concrete that makes you pause briefly. You continue forward with a shake of your head, chalk it up to your hunter-trained ears conjuring up imaginary noises. But something churns in your belly as you slide the boxes back into their places on the dusty shelf. A medley of what-ifs playing in your mind on a loop.

You’ve just closed the door to the garage when you see him, your hand clamping over your mouth to stop the scream.

Dean Winchester leans against your kitchen counter, relaxed, whiskey tumbler in his right hand. His hair is longer than you remember, parted on the side. He looks just as cocky as you remember, full lips curled in that familiar smirk that once upon a time pulled you into the warm safety his arms.

That was a long time ago.

“Heya, sweetheart.” His voice is deep; gritty. And his features are all…wrong.

“Dean?” His name is a gasp and you’ve got your palm flat against your chest in a  _you scared the hell outta me._

“It’s me, honey.”

“H-how’d you get in here?”

“Back door. You always were shit about locking doors.”

Fuck. The shed. You’d forgotten to lock the door after hauling in the Christmas tree.

“Fine.  _Why_  are you here?” You cock your hip and cross your arms, try to puff up your defense.

“Well,” he drawls, takes a long swallow of whiskey before clunking the glass down on your counter. “A lot’s happened since the last time we, uh, spoke.”

“Yeah?” You take a step back, something isn’t right. There’s a silver knife in the garage, if you can just-

Dean sighs. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

He straightens, levels his head so that his empty eyes are heavy on yours.

“Make me chase you.”

That does it. He’s pushing off the counter just as you spin on your heels, and you’ve just gotten your hand around the brass knob of the door when he closes a hand tight around your arm, then heaves his weight into you, pressing you against the wooden barrier.

“Fuck!” you grit, panting through clenched teeth. “What are you?!”

“Demon,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing.

“You piece of shit-”

“Relax, honey. Ain’t nobody takin’ me for a ride. It’s me… _all_  me.”

You shift in his grip, turn your head so that the flat of your cheek is flush against the door.

“What? You’re lying.”

“I ain’t. Still got my tat. Nothin’s smokin’ in me. I’ll show ya, if you’re a good girl for me.”

Neither of you speak for a moment. You swallow loud.

“Alright. Show me.”

“You gonna run?”

“No.”

“Hmm.”

You let out a breath of relief when pulls off of you, but he gets his hands flat on either side of your head as you turn, keeps you caged. His eyes stay on yours as he brings a hand to the burgundy collar of his shirt, and tugs it down to reveal the unscathed anti-possession tattoo. The ink’s a little faded, bleeds a little into the fine lines mapping his flesh, but otherwise unblemished.

“I don’t…I don’t understand.”

“Like I said. Lot’s happened in three years. Don’t move.”

Your jaw works, eyes dancing as you contemplate a flee, but then he’s rolling up his burgundy sleeve. He leaves it neatly cuffed just below the elbow, and flips his arm palm-up.

The hell?

There’s an odd mark on the underside of his forearm, looks like some kind of burn, but it’s in the shape of a…seven? With two little curvy lines just to the left of it.

“Mark of Cain,” he explains, running a thumb over the red, raised skin. “S’long story. One I don’t care to dive into right now, but uh, basically? It won’t let me die.”

“You - you died?”

“Mmhmm. Came back with black eyes though.” He blinks then, and ice water cascades down your back.

You swallow; your tongue feels swollen.

“Where’s Sam?”

“Not here.”

“You need to leave.”

He frowns, purses his lips. “But I came all the way out here just to see ya. That  _hurts,_ baby.”

“Dean, come on…this isn’t you-”

“I just wanna talk, kiddo.”

“Really?”

He sniggers then, nose scrunching, green-again eyes crinkling. “No. Not really, but your face was  _golden_.”

Anger rises, prickles and seethes hot under your skin. “Fuck you, Dean!” you hiss through clenched teeth.

Dean just smiles; too wide, too bright. “Tell me, honey…You been  **naughty or nice**  this year?”

It happens before you can think, and you hear the slap before you feel the stubble scratch at your palm. He runs a soothing tongue along the inside of his cheek, smirks right through it.

“Tell ya what,” he grins. “I’m feelin’ merry. How ‘bout we make a game outta this, hmm?”

“You fucking psycho-”

“If you can run to the bedroom without me catchin’ ya, you win. I’ll leave.” He smiles, olive eyes lighting to a brilliant emerald. “But if I catch ya? You’re  _mine_ for the night. Deal?”

“Do you think I’m fucking stupid? You know I can’t outrun you, this is-”

“Five second head start. I promise. C’mon, this house ain’t that big…”

This is stupid. This is  _insane_.

But if it’ll get him to leave? Long enough for you to get in touch with Sam…

“Fine. Five  _whole_  seconds.”

He grins and offers his hand.

You shake the agreement into full effect.

*****

You didn’t think about his enhanced speed. Fucking demons. You didn’t even make it to your hallway before his muscled mass was crashing into you.

And now you’re naked, tied to your own bed because you thought you could take a win against a goddamned  _demon._

You tug at the ropes around your wrists, tug hard enough that you can hear the pull at your wooden headboard. Dean chuckles as he tightens the last of it around your ankles.

“Deal’s a deal,” he rumbles, runs rough hands up the smooth length of your shins. You can feel the dip in the mattress as he knees his way between your bare legs. He lets himself fall over you, caging you inside now-frighteningly powerful arms. He dips his head, tilts until his lips are just a burning tingle against yours, damp-warm breath bursting against you in even pulses. You close your eyes in wait for the kiss, but instead he laughs, pulls away to mouth a line down the center of your throat.

You start to tremble, veins buzzing with molten heat - you’ve never needed to just  _move_  so goddamned bad in your life - but the ropes render you immobile as your former flame helps himself to your body.

Vibrating under his touch, you suck in a breath when he laves his hot tongue at the dip of your throat, arching up into him on lust-driven instinct. He hums against your skin; lips, tongue, and teeth grazing downward as he descends down the length of you.

Your fingers curl when he sucks a nipple into the furnace of his mouth, and you make a kind of bleating sound that you might just sell your soul to take back.

He’s sucking marks into your stomach now, outstretched hands groping and squeezing at your your breasts.

“How long’s it been?” he asks, the words muffled into your soft flesh.

“Since you,” you gasp, vision blurring from the rich pleasure of his mouth and hands.

His lips leave you then-

“Three  _years?_ ”

“Well, I mean - yeah?”

“Musta ruined you.”

Cocky son of a-

“Fuck you, Dean.”

“Oh, we’re gettin’ there.”

And goddamn if that sentence doesn’t have fire licking at your belly.

Your gaze is trained on the dim ceiling, but you can feel the warm breeze of his breath against your weeping cunt, can feel his soft hair tickling at the V of your thighs. Every muscle is taut and shaking, and you keen when he  _finally_ flattens his tongue against you.

He starts with wide, even stripes from entrance to clit, and it takes no time at all for your hips to start rolling up to meet him. Dean lets this slide for a couple of generous minutes before  _clamping_  his hands at your waist while simultaneously  _shoving_ his tongue up into you.

Your cry is strangled as you  _lurch_  up against him, your bindings biting at your wrists. Coarse stubble rubs at your arousal-swollen flesh as he starts to thrust his tongue, and new heat curls in your belly at the hungry little sounds he’s making. His nose rasps over your clit as his jaw works against you, stoking your pleasure higher-

He pulls back then, ignoring your dissatisfied cry to plunge two thick fingers into your slick heat. He gets a thumb up on your clit, rubs over and over as he starts to scissor his fingers, and oh  _hell_ your orgasm is so close you think you can fucking  _taste_  it.

Dean fits a third finger inside, stretches them  wide before he starts to jerk them in and out with a  _frenzied_  pace. The squelching plunge only adds to your spiraling arousal and in only four more thrusts, you’re coming, squealing the hunter-turned-demon’s name as you flutter around his still-working fingers.

He wipes his wet hand on your stomach as he patiently waits for you to come down, presses one last kiss to your twitching clit before climbing off the bed.

“Dean?” you mumble; lost.

Is he going to just  _leave_  you like this?

You blink quickly and swallow, eyes finally landing on him at the foot of the bed. He’s shirtless, skin more golden than you know it really is under the yellow lamplight. Fresh heat builds at the sight of him working his belt open, and god, you just want to fucking  _move._

“Come on, Dean,” you say, voice rough. “Untie me.”

“Oh, don’t worry, baby,” Dean grins, shoving his jeans and boxers down, freed cock bouncing. “I’ll untie ya when I’m through with ya.”

Oh god.

This time when Dean climbs over you, he’s  _deliciously_  naked, heavy cock hot against your thigh as he ducks down to lick into your mouth.

“This…this isn’t right,” you say when he pulls away. “You’re a demon now-”

Dean’s full lips quirk as his eyes lay heavy on yours. “Oh, I’ll give ya as good as I always did. Maybe even  _better._ ”

And then he’s dropping his crushing weight against you so that your breasts are mashed up against his bare chest as he kisses you deep, jaw-to-jaw. New arousal builds in your belly as he runs his hands all over you; fingers skimming up your sides, up the stretch of your bound arms.

There’s something about your defenseless, immobile state that has liquid heat coursing through you; something primal and  _exquisitely_  frightening about losing all sense of control.

A warm, firm press at your entrance abruptly ends your self-psychoanalysis, and Dean breaks the kiss, sets his weight on his forearms just as he pushes inside. He sinks in slowly,  _agonizingly_  slow, and it seems like forever before he finally bottoms out. You both groan at the tight depth, and shit, you’ve forgotten how fucking  _phenomenal_ he always felt inside you.

His eyes haven’t left yours, and for a moment you feel like you have him back, like you have  _your_ Dean again.

And then he blinks.

You start to scream as oily black floods his eyes, suddenly all too aware that there’s a very literal  _monster_ inside you-

A hand jams against your throat, effectively silencing you.

“Shh… _relax_. Deal’s a deal, remember?”

He starts to thrust, palm still flush with your windpipe, with a speed that you aren’t at all prepared for-

Yet the pleasure blooming inside is almost  _overwhelming._

Thick fingers tighten at the sides of your neck as he fills you over and over, and the lack of oxygen somehow adds to the building fire. He shoves a hand under under your sweat-slick back, jerking you impossibly deeper onto his pistoning cock.

Black starts to creep into the corners of your vision, and  _god_  you need to breathe-

Dean drops his head, lips at your ear.

“Told ya it’d be better. You like it, huh? You think you can come before you pass out on me?”

Your mouth tries to form the words  _please…more,_ but his grip on you is so tight, and he’s fucking into you with such fierce power that your lips can only hang loose as your eyes settle back in your skull.

You’d cry out in relief if you could when two fingertips rasp over your clit, and in just three more swipes it hits-

Dean releases your throat just as a raw scream breaks free. You buck and shake underneath the demon’s still-thrusting hips, wet skin-on-skin resounding throughout your bedroom.

Now that the pounding blood in your ears is starting to dissipate, you can finally hear the sounds of Dean’s exertions-

He sounds  _inhuman;_ grunts so deep that the timbre of them seem to settle and thicken your bones. A hand tangles itself in your hair at the back of your head and  _pulls_  just as he goes stiff all over, growling into the wet slope of your neck as he jerks and spurts into you, hips absently continuing to rock for several moments until stopping completely.

The pain at your scalp starts to subside as his fingers go lax, and you whimper faintly as he slips his come-coated length from your still-twitching channel.

You close your eyes as you wait for your breathing to even, feel the mattress bounce and jostle as his weight leaves it.

And then you succumb to exhaustion.

*****

A warm wetness between your legs prompts your eyes open, and after several rapid blinks you find Dean, clad only in his beltless jeans, quite literally cleaning up his own mess. He carelessly tosses the washcloth behind him before reaching over to release your wrists, and you immediately begin to rub the ache away as he moves to the foot of the bed to free your ankles.

“I guess you’re leaving,” you whisper as you raise to a sitting position at the edge of the bed, surprised at the sorrow lacing your words as Dean ducks into his black t-shirt. “Merry Christmas to me.”

“I am,” he confirms, bending over to scoop up his discarded overshirt. He eases down next to you, sets all-too-familiar jade eyes on yours.

“And you, my  _naughty_ little girl, are coming with me.”


End file.
